He Will Remember for Them Both

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lucian entered his bedroom and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

For a long moment, he stood there without moving.

The room was vast, expansive in the way only wealth could afford, yet cold in its perfection, with dark-toned walls, muted lighting, and every surface polished until it reflected control rather than comfort.

Nothing here was excessive. Nothing was unnecessary. Every object existed with a purpose, placed exactly where it belonged... Just like him.

Any other night, Lucian might have stood at his window, hands clasped behind his back, surveying the city he ruled without mercy.

Tonight, he didn’t spare it a single glance.

He moved as if on autopilot, his body responding to habit while his mind remained elsewhere, trapped in the private room of a restaurant, in the warmth of unfamiliar closeness, in the echo of a voice that had haunted him for a decade.

His hands went to his jacket first, carefully, almost reverently.

He slipped it off his shoulders with a slow motion, as though afraid that moving too fast would break whatever fragile thing remained inside his chest.

His fingers paused at the fabric, lingering longer than necessary, before he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

Then he stopped.

Lucian stood there, bare-chested beneath the dim light, staring at the suit he had worn today.

The suit Elara had touched and hugged.

The suit that still carried the faint warmth of her body, the memory of her arms around him burned so deeply into the fabric that it felt almost sacrilegious to treat it like any other piece of clothing.

Lucian closed his eyes. He exhaled slowly, but there was tension in it.

He folded the suit with meticulous care, smoothing every crease, aligning every edge, treating it with the same precision he applied to billion-dollar contracts and corporate takeovers.

When he turned toward the wall, he pressed his palm against a hidden panel.

A soft mechanical sound followed.

The wall slid open, revealing a concealed wardrobe.

Inside were only a few items.

A watch he had worn the first time he’d met her.

A shirt stained faintly with saltwater.

And now... This suit.

Kept apart from everything else. Untouched by anyone but him.

Lucian placed the suit inside as though laying a treasure to rest, then closed the panel again, sealing it away from the world, sealing away the proof that today had been real.

Only then did he head to the bathroom 69 take a shower.

He braced his hands against the marble wall, his head bowed, his eyes shut tightly as water streamed over his face, down his jaw, dripping from his lashes.

'Why are you marrying him?'

The question repeated in his mind like a wound that refused to close.

Why Aaron? Why now? Why tomorrow?

No matter how many times he asked himself, the answer refused to come.

Anger stirred inside him, slow, dangerous, controlled only by years of discipline. Not at her. Never at her.

At the world that had failed her.

At the people who had cornered her.

And at fate itself.

When he finally stepped out of the shower, steam clinging to his skin, he wrapped a towel around his waist and returned to the bedroom, his expression once again locked into the cold composure the world knew him for.

The mask slid back into place effortlessly. He reached for his phone.

“Investigate Elara Vaughn's wedding,” he said the moment the call connected, his voice steady, commanding, leaving no room for hesitation. “Immediately.”

On the other end, his assistant straightened instinctively. “Is there a specific angle you’d like me to focus on, Mr. Hale?”

Lucian’s jaw tightened.

“Everything,” he replied flatly. “Her marriage to Aaron Vaughn. I want to know why she’s marrying him.”

“Yes, sir.” His assistant said professionally, although Lucian knew he might be cursing him in his head for disturbing his evening.

The call ended.

Lucian sat at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, damp hair dripping.

His hands clasped together, fingers tightening until the knuckles whitened.

He didn’t care that Elara kept pushing him away.

Didn’t care that she looked at him like a stranger.

Didn’t care that she had forgotten him entirely.

They had a history. He knew it. A past written in saltwater and moonlight.

And if Elara couldn’t remember it...

Then Lucian would remember for both of them.

A moment later, his phone buzzed with a message.

“Files have been sent to your laptop, Mr. Hale.”

Lucian stood immediately and crossed the room in long strides, opening the laptop on his desk.

Folder after folder appeared on the screen.

Elara Vaughn.

Background reports.

Medical records.

Employment history.

Family structure.

Lucian already knew most of it. He knew she was adopted.

He knew she had been taken in by the Vaughn family, a family that had never truly treated her as their own.

He knew she had grown up walking on eggshells, grateful for scraps of affection, conditioned to believe she owed them everything simply for existing under their roof.

He knew about the hospital visits. The unexplained injuries. The silence.

What he didn’t know... Was this!

His eyes darkened as he read further, every line stripping away another layer of restraint.

The wedding wasn’t about love. It was about inheritance.

The files detailed it clearly, coldly, clinically, and without mercy.

Elara’s grandfather had left behind a significant inheritance. Half of it was meant for her.

But there was a clause.

If Elara married, the inheritance would legally transfer to her.

Lucian’s hand slammed onto the desk.

The sound echoed sharply through the room.

“So that’s it,” he muttered, fury curling through his chest like a living thing. “They’re forcing her.”

His gaze sharpened. But then he frowned. Something didn’t add up.

He scrolled back, rereading the details slower this time, every instinct screaming that something was wrong.

Elara’s grandfather… Wasn’t her biological grandfather. He was her adoptive father’s father. Then why?

Why would an old man leave half his inheritance to an adopted granddaughter?

Lucian leaned back slowly, his eyes narrowing.

“That old man,” he murmured, “saw something.”

Something no one else did. Something worth protecting.

There were too many missing pieces.

Too many unanswered questions.

Lucian knew one thing for certain...

The Vaughn family was hiding something big. And Elara was trapped in the middle of it.

His gaze drifted back to the screen, landing on a photo attached to the file.

Elara! His Elara!

Her face was captured in soft light, her eyes lowered, her expression quiet but resilient, as though she had learned long ago how to endure without breaking.

Lucian froze. He didn’t click away. Didn’t move. He just stared.

As if the entire world had narrowed to that single image.

As if she were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

“You want me to come to your wedding tomorrow, Elara?” he murmured bitterly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

A humorless smile tugged at his lips.

“How cruel! Are you trying to torture me?” The thought alone made his chest ache.

“Do you really want to see me stand there,” he whispered, his voice rough and unguarded, “watching you marry someone else… someone who isn’t me?”

His fingers curled slowly into a fist.

“When are you going to see me?” he asked the empty room.

“When are you going to remember me?”

“When are you going to remember… us?” Silence answered him.

Lucian closed his eyes. “Elara,” he said softly to himself, sadness finally seeping into his expression, unguarded and real.

The man who ruled empires sat alone in the dark, staring at the woman he had loved for ten years...

And swore silently! No matter what it took…

He would uncover the truth. And he would save her.